


A.D.I.D.A.S.

by kaguya_yoru



Series: Let's Talk About Sex [3]
Category: Hawkeye (Comics), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-04-30
Updated: 2017-09-08
Packaged: 2018-10-25 21:49:13
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 6,977
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10773129
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kaguya_yoru/pseuds/kaguya_yoru
Summary: No expectations. No responsibilities. Just Phil.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you all for sticking with me through the long droughts between updates. As always, this story has taken on a life of its own so expect more plot, as well as more porn, of course.

“This isn’t what it looks like?” Clint didn’t even sound like he believed himself. Phil thought there was little possibility of him convincing the dark-haired girl with a scowl on her face who looked barely out of her teens.

She crossed her arms, her eyes narrowing. Phil noted there was a surprising amount of muscle in the thin, pale limbs, revealed by her sleeveless purple tank. “Really?” she asked in an acerbic tone. “‘Cause it looks like you have a hickey on your neck and your shirt is on inside out.”

A red flush bloomed on Clint’s cheeks. Phil watched, fascinated by the dynamic unfolding in front of him. Despite the fact that Clint was obviously at least a decade older than the girl, he seemed thoroughly cowed by her.

Clint rubbed the back of his neck, causing his own bicep to bulge. Phil let his eyes linger on it, appreciating the fact that he’d had his hands wrapped around it less than an hour ago. “I can explain - ” he started to say and then trailed off, clearly having nothing to say to follow it up.

The girl threw up her hands and scoffed. “One hour!” she cried out. “I leave you alone for one hour and you somehow get laid. Are you sure I’m the one who should be seeing Dr. Banner?”

They all looked over at Bruce, who gave them a small thin-lipped smile. “Anyone is welcome to make an appointment,” he said in an even tone. “Just ask Darcy.”

“So I’m not fired?” Darcy said in a small voice. She was watching the proceedings with wide eyes, her hands nervously playing with a pen.

“What?” Bruce frowned. “Of course you’re not fired. Why would you think that?”

“It is my first day and all,” Darcy said, pushing a lock of her long, black hair back behind her ear, “but I think letting one of your patients go off and have sex with a random person sitting in the waiting room of a sex therapist’s office is a fireable offense.”

“I’m not a patient,” Phil said almost at the same time as Bruce said, “He’s not a patient,” their voices echoing each other in syncopated rhythm.

Darcy looked between them. “But he has an appointment?” she asked, eyebrows rising up towards her hairline.

“It’s complicated,” Bruce said after a short pause.

Phil kept silent. The reasons he was there were actually classified but he knew saying that would only peak everyone’s curiosity further.

“Oh, let’s just go,” the dark haired girl said, exasperated. She started to move towards the exit and then hesitated, stopping and turning towards Bruce. “Thanks,” she said, voice earnestly sincere.

“You’re welcome,” Bruce said, his tone warming. His mouth curved into a small, welcoming smile. “Feel free to make another appointment whenever you wish.”

“I'll think about it,” she replied. She glanced towards Clint and rolled her eyes, striding towards the exit with an irritated huff.

He grimaced and followed her. Phil waited until Clint drew level before casually reaching out to grab his arm. Clint instantly stilled. There was a quick flex of his bicep underneath Phil’s loose grip before Clint turned his head, a questioning look in his eyes.

“I’ll call you,” Phil promised. His gaze lingered on the love bite marring Clint’s neck, a visible reminder of what they’d been up to just minutes before, and he didn’t stop the desire from returning to his own eyes.

Clint held his gaze for a breathless moment. “That’s what all the boys say,” he quipped but the hoarseness of his voice showed how affected he actually was. He began to pull away from Phil’s grasp.

Phil tightened his grip. “I’ll call you,” he said again, voice quietly firm. He was gratified by the way Clint’s Adam’s apple bobbed with a hard swallow, his blue eyes suddenly darkened by the swiftness with which his pupils dilated.

“Yeah,” Clint said. His tongue flicked out and Phil’s gaze dropped to his shining, pink lips. A low tug of desire made him wish no one was around, that he could explore that sinful mouth again. “You should do that.”

Phil let him go, keenly aware of Darcy and Bruce still in the room. Clint hesitated a moment, lips parted slightly as if he was going to say something further, but then he turned to follow the dark-haired girl out of the room without another word.

“Darcy,” Bruce said once Clint had disappeared through the doorway, hard gaze intent on Phil. “You are dismissed. I’ll see you tomorrow.” Even though his voice was mild, there was a new tension to his shoulders that lent him a dangerous air. Phil could feel his own muscles stiffening in response, readying himself to act, if need be.

Darcy looked between the two of them once before hurriedly gathering up her things and leaving the office, eyes wide and her stride only just shy of a run. When she passed by Phil, he felt her turn to glance at him but his focus was entirely on Bruce. He was aware of just how small Bruce’s waiting area was, the receptionist desk and two chairs crammed into a narrow rectangle of a room. It limited range of motion, the number of moves he could employ. A leaf of Darcy’s oversized plant brushed against his arm but he automatically tuned out the distracting sensation.

“Who do you think you are?” Bruce’s voice still had that deceptive mildness to it. It only made Phil more on edge. “Do you think my life is a game?”

Phil wasn’t sure how to respond. “If I did something,” he began to say.

“My waiting room is not for you to pick up conquests!” Bruce practically shouted, eyes flashing with anger.

A wave of contrition briefly swept over Phil. It had been wrong to pick up Clint the way he had and he’d known it. But he’d felt the urge for weeks now, that need to lose himself in skin and sweat, to bury himself in another person so that he didn’t know where he ended and they began. Clint had been perfect, all needy gasps and punch drunk moans, limbs corded with muscle yet surprisingly limber. He’d felt a yearning inside him ease with every thrust, a hole inside him fill with every passionate kiss. His orgasm had rocketed through him, stealing his breath. For one shining, breathless moment, everything had been perfectly still and he'd been just Phil. 

No expectations. No responsibilities. Just Phil.

Bruce’s hands curled into fists. He was only an inch shorter than Phil but he somehow seemed larger, broad shoulders expanding with every breath, feet planted in a wide stance. “I understand that you have to check up on me,” he said, anger present in every syllable. “But that doesn’t give you the right to toy with my life.”

“Do you?” Phil interjected with raised eyebrows. Confusion briefly flitted over Bruce’s face. “Do you understand?”

“I’m - ” Bruce shook his head, his short greying curls swinging with the motion. He looked up and the confusion now clouded his brown eyes, body deflating. “I’m dangerous?” He sounded lost, voice small suddenly. He put one hand up to his head, fingers rubbing at his temple. “I need to be,” he said slowly, “contained?”

“Bruce.” Phil made his voice low and even. “Take a deep breath. Calm your mind.”

It was the exact wrong thing to say. “NO!” Bruce shouted, seeming to expand in all directions. Phil noted with a distant sort of alarm that Bruce was starting to look sickly under the warm yellow lights, his skin turning a faint green. HIs eyes flashed again but this time, it looked like the brown was fading, giving way to another color.

“Lullaby.” Phil pitched his voice to carry, the single word ringing in the air between them. It was the last trick Phil had before he had to move onto force, which he hoped to avoid in the tight space.

Bruce actually snorted, nostrils flaring. His head shook again but more slowly this time, as if he were moving through syrup. “No,” he said again and his voice had turned gravelly and rough. “Puny - ”

Phil tensed, his hand creeping towards the lapel of his suit jacket, but then a yawn widened Bruce’s jaw, his eyelids closing in reflex. His hand came up to cover his mouth, albeit a moment too late.

“Oh, I’m sorry,” Bruce said, eyelashes fluttering open over warm, brown eyes, his hand dropping to one side. He seemed all too human, exhausted after a hard day of work. His voice was soft and his lips curled in self-deprecating amusement. “It’s been a long day. Do you mind if we reschedule our appointment?” 

Phil had to take a second to let the tension fade from his limbs, his own hand falling to his side now that the threat had seemingly passed. “Sure, Bruce,” he said, forcing his lips into an answering smile, “no problem at all.”


	2. Chapter 2

“A Code Green, really?” Jasper Sitwell’s glasses glinted in the sunlight streaming through the conference room windows so that for a moment his eyes were obscured by the glare. Then he stepped further into the room and his dark brown eyes were revealed. His face was composed in a bland expression, one that he’d obviously modeled after Phil’s famous poker face over the years. “I thought he was stable.”

“So did I,” Phil replied, already seated at the round conference table. Sheer glass comprised its surface, resting atop wide metal legs that curved on their way to the floor. Phil privately thought it was a strategic move on Fury’s part to stop any shenanigans from occurring underneath the tabletop during the less exciting meetings. “Where’s Maria?”

“On her way,” Jasper replied as he settled into a seat. “You know how she is about her coffee.”

Phil raised an eyebrow. “Like you’re any better?”

Jasper unabashedly sipped at the extra-large white mug in his hand. “Please,” he said. “I know you’ve had at least three cups already.”

Four technically, if you counted the fact that one had been a double, but Phil kept quiet about that little fact. There was no point in trying to defend himself. He’d mentored Jasper Sitwell for several years before Jasper had achieved a ranking level where he could begin to take on his own missions; Jasper was well aware of Phil’s coffee addiction.

Melinda May silently stepped through the doorway and sat down at the table with a single nod as her greeting. Both men gave their own nods in response, used to her taciturn demeanor. The three of them sat in companionable silence, Jasper sipping his coffee occasionally and staring unseeing out of the nearest window. May thumbed her way through the report Phil had compiled, although Phil knew she had probably memorized all the relevant details anyway. He had sent a digital copy to the team as soon as he finished it.

Phil’s own thoughts should have been occupied with the mission and yet a certain blue-eyed, dirty blond-haired man dominated them. It had been difficult enough to marshall his attention enough to compose the report. Now, in the comfortable silence of his peers, he found his thoughts wandering. To large biceps and powerful thighs. To abs that looked like they had been sculpted by Michelangelo. To an ass so perfectly round…

Maria Hill strode through the door with a glower on her face so dark that Phil instantly knew she had not been successful in obtaining a cup of coffee before the meeting. Her dark brown hair had been cut recently into a shoulder length bob that suited her face; he debated whether a compliment would improve her mood or just make her suspicious.

“What did you do?” she asked, her gaze focusing on Phil she lowered herself into a chair.

Perhaps not; she was already suspicious. Phil calculated his response choices and decided to deflect. “I know you’ve read the report.”

“And I know you.” She looked him over, brows drawing together. “You’ve done something.”

This had the unfortunate effect of ensuring that he had the attention of everyone in the room. He could see May mentally reviewing her knowledge of the report and inwardly cursed. He had taken the liberty of being intentionally vague about certain details of his conversation with Bruce in the report, not wanting to highlight the fact that he’d taken a side diversion before fulfilling his mission; the video they were about to review would make it obvious enough after all. If he had had any inkling that it would have been a trigger for Bruce, he’d never would have done it but as Jasper said, they’d all thought Bruce was stable.

Thankfully, Fury chose that moment to enter the room, his stern expression calling the meeting to order without a single word. He wasted no time pressing play on the the recorded video that had been cued up to the moment Bruce finished his session with his client. When they’d agreed to this project, Bruce had insisted that cameras only be installed in the waiting room of his practice. In compromise, a transdermal monitor had been implanted under Bruce’s skin to monitor him. The video display was split into a four grid format, three of the squares showing the waiting room from different viewpoints with a fourth displaying his recorded vitals at the time.

Upon starting, the video showed Bruce and his client comfortably chatting in the waiting room. There was no sound, another stipulation that Bruce had insisted on to ensure patient privacy. Darcy could be seen shooting worried glances towards the door of the waiting room while absently playing with her hair. After a few moments, the door opened and Phil and Clint entered the room.

Phil inwardly winced. The self-satisfied look on his own face in the recording was almost rude in its salaciousness. Phil could feel the tension in the conference room rise to an almost palpable level as his recorded self moved - no, strutted - further into the waiting room. Add in Clint’s bed-tousled hair and inside-out T-shirt and it was clear what their recent activities entailed. He and Clint looked nothing less than well fucked. 

Phil kept his expression as blank as possible as the video continued. He pretended that he didn’t hear Jasper’s swift intake of breath when on-screen he grabbed Clint’s arm and gave him a look that was scorching in its intensity. He ignored Maria shifting in her seat when Clint licked his lips, naked desire evident in his expression. It was a relief when he released Clint onscreen and Clint left the waiting room after a small hesitation. The rest of the video, including his confrontation with Bruce, seemed anti-climactic in contrast to those few charged seconds.

Fury paused the video when Bruce was mid-yawn. Phil briefly closed his eyes and then turned to face the music.

Jasper looked discomfited and a little ruffled even though he’d hardly moved. In fact, Phil could detect a glimmer of arousal in his eyes as Jasper defiantly returned his gaze. Interesting. May looked exasperated, lips pressed together in a thin line. Maria was openly glaring at Phil, nostrils flared. Fury was as inscrutable as ever and seemed in no hurry to speak, clearly willing to let the women take the lead on this one.

“If I had known - ” Phil started to say but was cut off by Maria letting out a snort and exchanging a look with May. “What?” he asked, hackles rising.

“Let’s just face the facts,” May said bluntly. “You’re addicted to sex.”

Phil let out a startled laugh. “I am not,” he said, lips still curved into a smile, “addicted to sex.” 

“Camilla Reyes.” Maria flung out the name as if throwing down a gauntlet.

“We were just blowing off steam.” 

May’s eyes narrowed. “Audrey Nathan?”

“My mission objective was to get close enough to protect her from Marcus Daniel,” Phil said. “Which I clearly achieved.”

Maria hooked a strand of her hair behind her ear, pressing her lips together in a disapproving expression. “Agent Katherine Shane?”

Phil felt a stab of annoyance. “Oh, is my whole personal life an open book now?” he countered. “We were off-duty.”

“Me?”

Silence fell. Fury put one hand to his chin, knuckle pressed against his bottom lip as he silently surveyed the occupants of the room. Phil stared at May, honestly baffled. “You?” he asked.

May raised an eyebrow. “You don’t remember?” she asked. “Russia? You propositioned me.”

The memory came back to him in a rush. It had been in their early days, one of the first missions he’d done with May. He had been a Level 4 field agent and she a Level 3 specialist. The adrenaline had been coursing through him with the successful mission, the 0-8-4 secure in its container. The atmosphere in the car on their way back to their extraction point had been charged, ripe with potential. So he’d made a play.

Truth be told, he had a habit of mixing business with pleasure and he knew it. Even as an everyman agent, his life was fraught with danger. He’d tried several things over the years to release the tension but so far, nothing beat a good orgasm, preferably one with a partner. Besides, May was one to talk. She was just as guilty of using sex as a way to come down from missions; she just happened to stick to civilians.

Phil let one corner of his lips curve upward. “Really, May?” he asked, drawing out the pronunciation of her name. He relished the way her gaze sharpened suddenly, her shoulders squaring in a reflexive defensive stance. “Because I only recall asking for a drink.”

The glare she sent his way was totally worth the beat-down he was sure to get later.

“Well, let’s hope Agent Agent is as much of a slut as everyone thinks he is,” an all too familiar voice sounded from the speakers. “In this case, it’s a feature, not a bug.”


	3. Chapter 3

Phil clenched his jaw, feeling annoyance blossom again in his gut. The Consultant was a perpetual pain in his ass. 

“Stark,” he said, hating the way his tone had taken on an edge, before turning towards the video screen. “What do you have for us?”

The unmistakable visage of Tony Stark had replaced the recorded video on the screen, complete with sparkling brown eyes and creative facial hair. It was a live feed from the workshop at Stark Tower in Manhattan, a motley collection of machinery visible in the background. 

“Just jumping right in?” A corner of Stark’s lip quirked upwards as he looked at Phil. “What, no foreplay first?”

For a brief second, Phil had a very vivid fantasy of punching the smirk right off of his face. Then his analytical mind kicked in and he could see the strain in Stark’s expression, lines carved into his face that normally didn’t exist and deeper bags than usual underneath his eyes. Stark liked to pretend that he was laid back but he cared deeply about those close to him. The Bruce Banner problem had been weighing on his mind for some time now.

“This is serious, isn’t it?” Phil crossed his arms and leveled his gaze at Stark. “I think we can dispense with the formalities.”

Stark nodded, his expression sobering. “As much as I’d like to blame Agent’s hounddog tendencies,” he said, “Bruce’s measurements have been displaying anomalies for weeks.”

Maria winced and rubbed her temple. She clearly needed that cup of coffee. “So is this another failure then?”

“I don’t think so,” Stark said, looking at data on another screen. “It’s a different pattern than the other real-world trials.”

“You obviously have a theory, Stark,” Jasper said, linking his hands together on the glass tabletop. “What is it?” 

“It almost seems,” there was an uncharacteristic hesitation before Stark continued, “deliberate.”

May tilted her head, a small crease forming between her brows. “What makes you say that?”

“The pattern is too regular,” said Stark, focusing his attention back on them. “Bruce has a number of triggers. We’ve done our best to eliminate the obvious ones but he’s not in a bubble. He has random spikes in his measurements corresponding to each one but they haven’t been strong enough or frequent enough to trigger a transformation.”

“But that’s changed,” Phil said.

Stark’s hands moved as he shifted through the data screens in his workshop, eyes intent and mouth drawn into a deep frown. “He had a huge spike during his last therapy session. It could be a coincidence but, in retrospect, with the obvious priming beforehand - ”

“Someone’s trying to trigger a transformation,” said Fury, speaking for the first time. His expression had hardened during their discussion, the eyepatch over his left eye serving to highlight his remaining eye burning in anger. “We’ve worked too damn hard for this to fail now.”

“This is completely unnecessary!” The words burst out of Stark, face twisting in frustration. Phil didn’t visibly jump at the shout, too used to maintaining strict control over his body’s reactions, but he was startled to see the depth of emotion in Stark’s eyes. “There’s nothing,” Stark continued in a tight voice, emphasizing the word, “wrong with Bruce.”

A beat passed. “Stark,” Maria said gently, breaking the tense silence. “This was Bruce’s choice.”

Stark visibly got himself under control, briefly closing his eyes before turning back to his data screens. 

“The girl is Kate Bishop,” he said, tones still clipped in anger. “Her father Derek is into philanthropy so we run in the same social circles. It looks like she left home about a year ago and opened up a private investigation agency with Agent’s boytoy Clint Barton.”

Phil suppressed an urge to deny that Clint was in any way his, let alone his boytoy.

Stark made a swiping motion with his hand. “They also live together in a brownstone in Brooklyn.”

Phil raised his eyebrows. “Together?”

“It looks like more of a sibling relationship than a romantic one,” Stark said. A bit of his former humor returned to his eyes. “Don’t worry, I’m sure you’ll be able to get your freak on.”

Phil ignored the jab. “Orders, sir?” he asked, turning to Fury.

“You’ve already established a connection with Barton,” Fury said. “The fact that he lives with Bishop is an advantage. Get close. Find out what they know.” Phil nodded. “And Coulson?”

“Yes, sir?”

“After this mission, I never want to hear about your dick again.” Fury glared at him. “Do you understand me?”

As Phil was pretty sure he was just irrevocably traumatized by Fury mentioning his penis, he had no problems with that order. “Yes, sir.”

“Good,” Fury said. “Get in touch with Fitzsimmons and Daisy. We’ll need surveillance on Barton and Bishop.” He turned back to the video screen. “Stark, do you think Bruce is stable enough to remain in the field?”

“He is,” Stark confirmed after another glance at his data screens. “But I don’t know if he can take another spike without transforming.”

“We’ll have to take the chance.” Fury looked at Jasper. “Keep his detail the same,” he said. “Let’s flush out the bastards who are trying to trigger him.”

“Yes, sir.”

“May, I want your eyes on Bishop. Keep your distance for now.”

May gave Fury a sharp nod. “Sir.”

“Let’s get to work.”

*

It took two days for Fitzsimmons to come up with the gadgets he needed. He listened to their explanation of how they worked with half an ear, waiting for them to take a breath before saying, “So I just press the button on the top here?”

Jemma scoffed. “Well, it’s slightly more complicated - ”

“The technology involved is extremely advanced - ” Fitz started to say, obviously incensed. 

“Pretty much, yeah,” interrupted Daisy, glancing up from her laptop.

“Good,” Phil said. “How are you doing with the outdoor surveillance?”

“All the cameras are in position,” she said. She hesitated a moment, looking warily at the gadgets in his hand. “You’re going to wait until after you get your groove back before placing those, right?”

Phil stared at her for a second in horror. “Get my groove back?” he asked. “First of all, I wasn’t aware I had lost it. And second of all, how old do you think I am?”

“Old enough to get that reference,” Daisy said, raising her eyebrows in amusement. “That movie came out almost twenty years ago.”

Phil opened his mouth and then closed it again a moment later when he realized he had absolutely no comeback. He left the lab in a decidedly disgruntled mood, the three of them bursting into giggles behind him.

“When did it become open season on my sex life?” he muttered as he entered his office. Clearly, he needed to become more discreet if everyone thought it okay to take potshots at him. Maybe May had the right idea with sticking to civilians.

He let out a sigh as he sat down in his office chair, feeling the built up tension in his body. Some of it was annoyance over the ribbing he’d had to endure over the last couple of days but there was also a more basic urge making itself known. Taking out his cell phone, he thumbed through his contacts until he reached Clint’s number. Even though it was for a mission, he felt a thrill go through him at the prospect of seeing him again. The sex had been amazing last time and he was looking forward to what the two of them could get up to when they weren’t rushed for time.

Phil absentmindedly tapped the cell phone to his chin as he contemplated the possibilities. If he played his cards right, he could keep the mission a secret from Clint and they could come to some sort of arrangement. He had access to safe houses and boltholes all over the world but New York City was where he found himself more often than not. While he enjoyed the chase, sometimes he only had a small amount of time to indulge his urges. It’d be nice to have someone to call.

He leaned back in his office chair and pressed the button to connect the call. His mouth curved at the thought of Clint’s response to his opening salvo and he felt the first stirrings of desire low in his gut. As soon as he heard the line picked up on the other end, he spoke, voice deliberately low and rough. 

“I’ve spent the last two days thinking of all the ways I’m going to make you come.”

There was silence for a moment before a stuttered breath sounded over the line.

“Wow,” said a feminine voice that sounded absolutely nothing like Clint. Phil sat bolt upright, his arousal doused as surely as if a bucket of ice water had been poured over him. “I think you’ve got the wrong Hawkeye.”

Phil silently groaned, cursing his lack of foresight. Clint lived with Kate Bishop; it wasn’t out of the realm of possibilities that she would pick up his phone.

“I was expecting Clint,” he said in a normal tone.

“Clearly,” she drawled, amusement in her voice. “Not that I would say no to a proposition like that. You’re that guy from Banner’s office, right? Not bad looking from what I remember.”

A mixture of pique and unease went through him. He didn’t like the fact that he only rated a ‘not bad looking’ in Kate’s eyes but was equally discomfited by the idea of her looking at him sexually at all. She was only a teenager.

“I think I’ll stick with Clint, thanks,” he said dryly. “Is he there?”

“He is,” she said brightly. Phil could hear scuffling sounds coming over the line. She was moving somewhere quieter, the noises in the background fading away.

“Can I speak to him?” Phil asked after another long moment of silence.

“Sure, in a sec.” The background noises suddenly cut off completely; she must have moved behind closed doors. “I don’t know who you are or what you want with Clint,” she said, voice suddenly menacing. “But if you hurt him, I will shoot you so full of arrows you’ll look like a pincushion by the time I’m through. You got me?”

The threat, while unexpected, didn’t bother Phil in the slightest. The problem was that he wasn’t sure what was motivating it. Was she speaking as an overprotective friend or had she somehow figured out he had an ulterior motive for wanting to be with Clint?

“Got it,” he said after what he judged to be an appropriate length of silence after her statement. “Can I speak with Clint now?” 

“Sure thing,” she said brightly, the menacing tone completely gone.

There was another stretch of time without speech, the background noises reappearing. Another scuffle and then finally Clint’s voice sounded over the line. “Hello?”

There was no point in trying his previous approach; the moment was lost. “Clint,” he said, injecting warmth into his voice. “It’s Phil.”

“Phil? Oh wow, umh. Hi.” 

Phil frowned. Clint sounded surprised to hear from him. “I told you I’d call.”

“Right,” Clint stammered. “You did. Right.”

An awkward silence descended. Phil clenched his jaw. This was not how he imagined this conversation going. “I’d like to see you again,” he said, keeping his voice warm.

“Oh.”

Another pause. “Is that something you want?” Phil asked curiously. It didn’t sound like Clint was all that excited to hear from him.

“Yes!” Clint all but shouted into the phone, causing Phil to jerk the speaker away from his ear for a second at the sudden burst of noise. “I mean, yes,” Clint repeated at a normal volume, embarrassment coloring his tone. “That would be great.”

There wasn’t only embarrassment in his voice; Clint sounded almost shy. Phil frowned again and mentally reviewed their conversation before letting out another silent groan. There was no way he could just ask to come over to Clint’s place now. Their conversation had taken on an entirely different flavor altogether.

“It’s a date,” he said, resigning himself to the inevitable. “I’ll pick you up at seven.”


	4. Chapter 4

For the fifth time, Phil checked his watch. Unfortunately, it just confirmed what he already knew: it was twenty minutes past seven. He peered once more around the corner and wondered if he should just go ahead and acknowledge the fact that he was being stood up.

He’d offered to pick up Clint from his place but Clint had been adamant about meeting at the restaurant. It was classic first date caution so Phil hadn’t pushed, not wanting to come across as creepy. He’d chosen a mid-range Italian restaurant for them to meet, one that he knew had good sightlines throughout most of its interior. But it was starting to look like Clint was going to be a no-show.

He hadn’t gone on a proper date in a while, so Phil looked down at his cell phone, debating the proper etiquette. Should he accept the obvious? Send a text or call to make sure nothing had happened to Clint? Maybe Daisy could hack into the CCTV and track Clint’s route -

“Phil!”

Phil breathed out a relieved sigh at the shout and tucked his phone away. He turned to face Clint who was running towards him.

“I was starting to think that I was going to be eating alone,” he teased as Clint came within hearing distance.

Clint was wearing what looked to be the same pair of blue jeans and black motorcycle boots as the first time they met but this time paired with a silver button down shirt that showed off his sculpted chest and arms. Phil spent the time waiting for Clint to draw closer admiring how well those jeans hugged his slim hips and muscular thighs. He still had a very vivid memory of Clint’s body from behind and idly calculated just how quickly they could get through this farce of a date and back to Clint’s place. 

Clint slid to a stop near him, causing Phil to reluctantly drag his eyes upwards. Alarm flared in his chest at his first glance at Clint’s face: Clint’s bottom lip was swollen and there was a bruise around his left eye that looked like the beginning of an impressive black eye.

“Clint, what in the hell happened to you?” Phil demanded.

“Nothing, nothing.” Clint shook his head, breathless from his run. “Sorry I’m late. You look great. Should we go inside?” he said in a rush, the words obviously rehearsed, and gestured towards the entrance of the restaurant.

Phil stared at him for a second. “Clint,” he said slowly. “You don’t look well. Maybe we should reschedule?”

Clint’s face fell in an expression so woebegone that Phil was reminded of the puppies in adoption commercials. “Aw, Phil, no,” he said sadly. “I was really looking forward to tonight.”

As an agent of the one of the most dangerous intelligence organizations in the world, Phil faced danger on a fairly regular basis and had hardened himself accordingly over the years. He had even held out against torture from some of the deadliest assassins without uttering a single word. And yet, he felt his defenses crumble within a second of looking into Clint’s imploring blue-green eyes.

“Sure,” he heard himself saying. “Let’s go inside.”

To the hostess’s credit, she didn’t blink an eye at Clint’s battered appearance. “Right this way,” she said, leading them over to a table near the window and handing them their menus once they were seated. A busboy came by a moment later and placed full glasses of ice water on the table in front of them.

“Here,” Phil said. He scooped some ice out of his glass and wrapped it in his cloth napkin. “You should put that on your lip to help the swelling.”

Clint took the improvised ice pack and held it to the corner of his mouth. “Thanks, Phil,” Clint said, his voice slightly muffled by the cloth. He smiled and his bottom lip split open, causing Clint’s smile to change to a grimace halfway through at the sudden pain.

Unexpectedly, something fluttered in Phil’s chest. Clint looked like a total disaster and yet there was still something appealing about him. He mentally revised his earlier assessment: Clint was the bedraggled puppy standing in the mud from the adoption commercials.

“Maybe you should hold off on talking for now,” Phil suggested gently. “Give the ice a chance to work.” Clint nodded and lowered his gaze to study the menu.

When the waiter who came to take their drink orders also failed to react to Clint’s appearance, Phil grew suspicious. After they had both decided to stick with the ice water, Phil cast his gaze about the dining room using his menu as cover. Just as he expected, more than half of the people in the restaurant were agents. Hell, now that he was paying attention, he could see Jasper’s bald head glinting in the bar lights, a glass of Scotch in front of him on the polished wooden surface. Really, he should have expected that Fury would use his date as an excuse for an agent training exercise.

“Phil,” Clint said a few minutes later.

“Yes?” Phil answered distractedly, still tallying the number of agents that he recognized. He squinted. Was that Bobbi Morse under that ridiculous black wig?

“Maybe we should reschedule.” Clint sounded defeated.

That caught Phil’s attention. “What?” he asked, his head snapping back to look at Clint, who was still hidden behind his own menu. “Why?”

There was a small pause and then Clint lowered the menu. “Because I can’t see out of my left eye.”

Sure enough, in the short time they had been sitting in the restaurant, Clint’s eye had swollen shut, the skin rapidly darkening to a mottled eggplant hue.

Phil felt another unexpected flutter in his chest at the crushed expression on Clint’s face. Deliberately pushing away the feeling, he thought about how best to turn this to his advantage. “Why don’t I take you back to your place and we pick up some Chinese on the way?”

For a brief moment, Clint’s face lit up. Then he absentmindedly bit his lip, wincing when his teeth met the split skin. “It might not be the best idea for you to come to my place,” he hedged.

“I don’t feel right letting you go home by yourself in such a state,” Phil said honestly.

Clint looked out the window for a moment, expression somber. “Look,” he said abruptly. “My landlord is kind of a dick and I don’t want you to have to deal with him.”

Something in Clint’s tone pinged Phil’s radar. “Clint,” he said, “is he the one who did this to you?”

Clint’s silence and the way he wouldn’t look Phil in the eye was answer enough.

“Right,” Phil said, standing up from the table. “You’re definitely not going back home alone.” He ushered Clint to his feet and out the door of the restaurant, ignoring his sputtering protests.

Clint was still talking when they reached Phil’s car, despite the fact that he was still clutching the now dripping makeshift ice pack to his bottom lip. Phil waited until he took a breath and looked Clint straight in his eyes.

“Clint,” he said in a firm voice. “You are going to get into this car. We’re going to pick up Chinese food. I am going to walk you to your door and see you safely inside your apartment. Do you understand me?”

Clint’s Adam’s apple bobbed and his eyes widened. “Yes, sir,” he said softly.

Desire flared in Phil’s gut, low and hot, at those words coming from Clint’s lips, but he didn’t let on in his expression. Instead, he opened the car door for Clint with a small smile on his face and waited until Clint was comfortably seated inside before closing it again.

The ride to the Chinese restaurant was quiet, broken only by Clint’s murmured directions to the one near his apartment.

“Do you know what you want?” Phil asked Clint after securing a parking space nearby.

Clint nodded and rattled off his order. Phil nodded and unbuckled his seatbelt. He hesitated before reaching for the car handle feeling an odd compulsion to say something to Clint. Glancing at Clint out of the corner of his eye, he saw him slumped against the car door, eyes closed as he held the makeshift ice pack to his lip.

Phil clenched his jaw and exited the car, closing the door with more force than he originally intended. This whole mission was grating at him and he felt an intense wave of longing for it to just be over already.

Entering the restaurant, he heard his cell phone ring with a familiar tone. Pulling it out, he felt the corner of his lip quirk upwards as he read the incoming text, his dark mood lightening suddenly.

It took less than ten minutes for their order to be ready and for Phil to be back behind the wheel, the enticing smell of Chinese food wafting from the bag nestled between Clint’s feet.

“My place isn’t far,” Clint said once Phil had started the car. Once again, Phil followed his instructions and pulled up in front of an apartment only a few blocks away from the Chinese restaurant.

Silence fell as Phil turned off the engine. He looked beyond Clint at the building opposite.

“You know,” Phil said evenly, “I really want to make sure you get home safely. Let me walk you to your door.”

He’d just finished unbuckling his seatbelt when he heard a barely audible curse from Clint’s lips. Phil pretended that he hadn't heard it and reached for the car door handle.

“Wait,” Clint said. Phil paused. “You can't walk me to the door.”

“Why not?”

Clint remained silent, face turned away from Phil.

“Something tells me,” Phil said quietly, “that this isn’t actually your apartment building.”

Of course, he knew for a fact that it wasn’t. He knew exactly where Clint lived.

Clint sighed. “I’m sorry, Phil,” he said, still looking away from him, “but between the suit and this car, you look like a Fed. My landlord’s not going to like that and it could make life harder for the people in my building.”

“Are you in some sort of trouble?”

“No,” Clint said, shaking his head. “No, it's just complicated.”

Phil was silent a moment. “All right,” he said. “Next time, I’ll bring the clunker.”

Clint turned to face Phil, the surprise obvious on his face. “Next time?”

“Of course.” Phil smiled. “You didn’t think I’d give up so easily, did you?”

Clint stared at him. “Guess not,” he finally said. Reaching down, he took his food container out from the bag. “I’ll talk to you later?”

Something compelled Phil to reach out and grab Clint’s forearm, as he reached for the car door handle. Phil let his hand slide upwards, up the tense muscles of his forearm, the flexed bicep, over the roundness of his shoulder. Clint closed his eyes as Phil trailed his fingertips along the side of his neck, along the faint mark still remaining from the love bite he’d left two days ago. A soft hiss whistled from between his parted lips as Phil’s thumb dragged gently over his swollen bottom lip.

Clint’s eyelids fluttered open as Phil’s hand cupped his jaw, those startling blue-green eyes looking into his own. There was a charged potential in the air between them, a crackling tension that caused Phil’s heart to beat faster in his chest. He wanted Clint, yes, but there was something else speeding up Phil’s heart.

Worry.

**Author's Note:**

> Feedback and comments are much appreciated. I can also be found on [Tumblr](http://kaguya-yoru.tumblr.com/). If you want an idea of when I might be updating next, go [here](https://kaguya-yoru.tumblr.com/tagged/kaguya-fics).


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